


Kid Brother My Ass

by bonerthatiusedtoknow



Series: Unrequited Frerard Drabbles (Or a Bunch of Times Gerard Said 'I Love You' But Didn't Mean It Like That) [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Early MCR, Jealousy, M/M, Tiff had feelings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonerthatiusedtoknow/pseuds/bonerthatiusedtoknow
Summary: Basically I had feelings after watching that MCR clip from their early days where they're all backstage and you can kind of hear Frank and Gerard say I love you to each other. This is just my head cannon of that. I was going to do a five times fic, but it turns out that I have too many feelings, so it kind of turned into a drabble collection. *shrug*
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Series: Unrequited Frerard Drabbles (Or a Bunch of Times Gerard Said 'I Love You' But Didn't Mean It Like That) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910137
Kudos: 27





	Kid Brother My Ass

**Author's Note:**

> I have other fics I should be working on, but this is how I spend my time instead. Torturing myself.

**Washington, DC 2003**

They’re in DC tonight, on tour with a few other bands. Gerard is completely plastered, more so than usual, and Frank and Mikey are just kind of trailing along behind him as he wanders around rambling on about god knows what to the merch guy filming them and anyone else that will listen. Frank doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t have a leg to stand on here, they all get fucked up, comes with the territory. Mikey is a shining example of that tonight, high as a kite on a joint Frank had scored off of one of the guys backstage and a few conspicuous looking drinks that have been floating around. Frank had taken a few drags, just enough to mellow out his nerves, and he’s feeling the beginning of a buzz working at his temples from the warm beers he’d confiscated from an ice-less cooler not too long ago. But he still has both feet firmly on the ground, not completely trashed like his bandmates. Mostly because he thinks that someone needs to keep an eye out for Gerard who is a handsy drunk, touchy feely and clinging to the nearest warm body while he waxes philosophical about whatever has caught his fascination this week. It’s been a problem in the past, Gerard finding some homophobic prick to hang all over and getting a fist in the nose to show for it, or some predatory fuck on the prowl for a drunken body to cow into a bathroom stall, eyeing Gerard like Christmas come early. It became a thing for him, on nights like this one when Gerard is a drunken vine—which is more often than not, these days—Frank curbs his urge to dive headfirst into a pool of liquor and weed, and sticks close by. 

Usually, he doesn’t mind too much, Gerard has this thing about him that makes people want to be in his orbit, and Frank is not an exception to that rule. But the merch guy keeps following them around, shoving the camera into their faces, and while Mikey and Gerard don’t seem bothered by it, the whole thing puts Frank on edge. He isn’t sure why. He knows that’s a thing now, pictures and videos and attention. He’s okay with all of that, he is, but he doesn’t like the feeling in his gut when the guy turns the lens on Gerard singing drunkenly, and leaning into Mikey and the wall, stumbling around people with his glass firmly in hand. It’s too intimate maybe, even with a hundred people around, or— not intimate exactly, but  _ something _ . Frank doesn’t know what to call it, he just knows he wants to wrap Gerard up in a blanket or something and take him back to the van where prying eyes can’t find him.

He doesn’t though. He hasn’t had quite enough to drink for all of that yet, and anyway, Gerard would probably put up a fight, little fucker loves the attention. It’s funny when he thinks about it, because when they first met off the stage, Gerard was this shy, awkward, little nerd that got uncomfortable if someone looked at him for too long. He’s still most of those things, but there’s this light behind his eyes now when he speaks that’s half manic enthusiasm, half desperation. Like a black hole that draws you in with its exuberance and feeds off of you to survive. Fuck, he’s weird when he smokes. He shakes his head to clear it of all his convoluted thoughts tonight.

He tries to step away for a second, just to get his head right, they’re going on stage any minute now and he needs to be away from all of  _ that _ for a moment. But Gerard starts hollering for him fifteen seconds later, as soon as he disappears around the corner. Frank sighs a little and takes a couple deep drags off his cigarette before he actually walks back over, just to prove to himself that he’s not at Gerard’s every beck and call, uses the time Gerard has his face smashed into Jon’s camera to stretch and get warmed up. 

“Feeling sick?” Mikey asks, even after all the shows he’s played, Frank's nerves still get to him sometimes. 

He shakes his head, “I’m good.” Gerard stumbles over to him, throwing an arm out to catch himself on the wall. It amazes Frank how Gerard is able to go out and give the kids out there such a great show when he can barely stand upright on his own. It’s a superpower for sure. He gets an image of Gerard running around in a cape with a microphone painted to his chest—Inebriated Singer Man, Drunk Rock Star, Intoxicated Songbird—and tries to keep the grin off of his face. Gerard leans into him, and his eyes are all soft and glazed over but earnest in that way that makes people feel like they’re the only person in the room, on the planet, like the only person that matters in his life. “I love you.” It’s not the first time he’s said it, prone to drunken declarations as Gerard is, but Frank’s heart feels simultaneously too full and aching with longing. Gerard is free with his feelings, always ‘I love you’ when Frank gives him his last cigarette, or when Ray gets up early to get them some breakfast, or when Mikey just exists. Always ‘I love you’ but never in the right way, never the way Frank wants him to mean it, never in the way that Frank does. 

“I love you too.” 

Gerard slings an arm over him, squeezing his shoulder, and says, “You’re my two kid brothers, you know that right?” And then again to twist the knife in,“My two kid brothers.” And yeah, Frank fucking knows, thanks. He knows that like he knows his mom’s name is Linda, and that his birthday is Halloween, and that they’re going to be so big someday, and that Gerard is trashed six ways from Sunday, and that he is fucking stupidly, pathetically in love with him.

It’s about time for them to find the stage, excitement thrums under his skin. Gerard turns to talk to Jon again, and jealousy joins excitement to party under his flesh like a thousand tiny, disgusting spiders. He wants to do something, his body vibrates with it, the need to grab Gerard by the hair and press their lips together, to monopolise all of his attention.  He feels rash and alive and thirsty to have a guitar in his hands to release all this pent up shit he walks around with all day. Frank sucks in a lung full of nicotine and breathes out a thick cloud of smoke into Gerard’s sweaty hair, hoping that it will linger there like a touch. Fucking kid brother. 


End file.
